


Faith

by GufettoGrigio



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, In a way, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23017402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GufettoGrigio/pseuds/GufettoGrigio
Summary: “I find them comforting. It’s a special way to tell a story. Keep a memory. Share a prayer. They have always made me feel less alone.”(ex-voto: a votive offering to a saint or to a divinity. They are not only intended for the helping figure, but also as a testimony to later visitors)
Relationships: Gerhard Berger/Ayrton Senna, if you so want to read it?
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	Faith

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of context, which I feel might be needed. I was reading Berger’s biography and apparently Ayrton referred to him as a ‘lunatic Austrian’ while describing to the journalist some of the crazy things Gerhard had done. When asked if Gerhard knew that Ayrton referred to him as such and if it was ok to put it in the book, Ayrton just laughed and said something along the lines of: ‘Oh, yeah. He knows and he agrees .’ I thought it was cute. Also, lunatic comes from the latin word for moon.

___

They had hidden away from the heat of the day, eyes lowered walking in, sneakers full of sand and swim shorts still humid. The church had been blissfully quiet - the heavy wooden door shutting behind them the hot cacophony of the world and too-loud orchestra of the cicadas. 

Like the parable of the two men in the temple, they had walked in side by side only to split: Ayrton going straight down the nave, to kneel by the altar lit in a halo of sun; Gerhard slinking off at the back, sliding along the wall in search of those corners where the shadows pooled together in a semblance of freshness. _Which of us would they say will be justified in the eyes of God?_ \- Gerhard had mused, lazily shaking the sand out of his sneakers. Both, maybe. Or maybe not. 

Gerhard had always thought that churches in Italy had a particular feeling to them. Not the majestic ones, the ones carved out of marble and gold, just the small ones like this, humbly made of red brick and pastel painted intonaco. It was a hard feeling to describe, almost as if the air inside them was lighter, somehow easier to breathe. He had felt it then, lightly dragging the tips of his fingers on the white paint as he walked down the side aisle.

_The presence of God -_ Ayrton would have said. 

_Peace_ \- Gerhard had thought, letting it in.

He had found the chapel almost by accident. It was closed off by an old, wrought-iron railing which had disrupted the uniform trailing of Gerhard’s fingers on the white wall. Curious, he had pushed the gate open, squeezing through to stand in the enclosed space. It was a small, windowless room with just a few lit candles chasing the shadows out of the corners and stretching them along the walls. The white too had been left outside - the paint on the walls a deep terracotta red instead. Lining the walls and dangling from the ceiling there were silver plaques in different shapes - human libs, a horse, boats, flaming hearts. Without thinking, Gerhard had reached out to touch them only to leave a smudge of white dust on the darkened silver. The pang of guilt in his chest had surprised him and he had taken his hand back, feeling mildly like a scolded child, but he hadn’t felt compelled to leave. He had stayed there instead: looking at the white dust, surrounded by bloody walls and the glint of silver in the candlelight, breathing it all in slowly. Waiting. Praying. Feeling. 

He had not felt Ayrton come but the peace had been so deep he didn’t startle, just welcomed Brazilian pressed warmly against his side.

“Have you seen anything like this before?”

"They are ex-voti." - Ayrton had explained in murmur - “Signs of gratefulness for a help or grace received.” He had reached out himself, running his fingers along the ones hanging from the ceiling, making them clink together lightly.

“Not to ask for something?”

“Não. You don’t ask, you greedy Austrian.”

_A grace received?_ Gerhard had let his eyes wander back among the silver.

“I thought you’d find them funny.” - Ayrton had chuckled, turning around a particularly explicit one. They would indeed have been quite funny - people’s crass superstitions - but Gerhard’s mind had found itself still caught by that smudge of white, a scorching mark on a stranger’s luck.

He had had his luck, hadn’t he? Through flames and crashes and cars of surgeons who just so happened to be in the right place at the right time. He had had his graces and his miracles, and he had still pushed on, asked for more, always greedy, always hungry, always faster.

“Maybe I should put one up. Here.” - Gerhard had whispered in the silence. - “You know for...everything.”

He had waited for the snap of judgement, the pull of vertigos that came with disclosing the depth of of his fears and the substance of his nightmares. It hadn’t come. Ayrton’s warmth had stayed pressed against his side, seeping silently through the chill of the shadows.

“It does feel like a waste of money, though.” Gerhard had said at last with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. Whether Ayrton’s or his, he had not known.

For a moment longer, Ayrton had just let his eyes wander around the room, the ominous warmth of the blood red walls, the play of shadows on the silver and Gerhard, standing in the middle of it all.

“Maybe I should thank Him for you.” He had mused and his lips had curled up, the humor of a joke Gerhard had not been privy to, shared at his expenses between two only. With that smile still on his lips, Ayrton had dragged Gerhard back out into the white hot light of the midday.

___

It’s not Gerhard’s intention to come back. The church is an afterthought on the drive up from Faenza but still, Gerhard stops. There’s more people in now, a small crowd lingering back from the afternoon service. The old priest in a _tonaca_ spares a glance and a smile to welcome him in and Gerhard feels almost bad for just slinking off, walking away into the chapel. The ex-voti are still there, lining the walls and dangling from the ceiling. He jumps when the priest joins him.

“Many people find them useless.” - the old man tells him - “Better to give the money to charity.”

“I think, once upon a time, I was meant to find them funny.” Gerhard admits.

The priest hums. “I find them comforting. It’s a special way to tell a story. Keep a memory. Share a prayer. They have always made me feel less alone.”

The priest reaches for the ones on the ceiling, picks one out, untying the string that keeps it together with the others. He holds it out for Gerhard.

It’s a moon and a formula one car. 

_Maybe I should thank Him for you._

**Author's Note:**

> This is what the [ex-voti](https://www.google.com/search?q=ex-voto&safe=strict&sxsrf=ALeKk03jHKRCubp8N5FLDOROf0D-cUED4w:1583352629519&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwi9k6WY0IHoAhU9QRUIHU1SBqQQ_AUoAXoECBMQAw&biw=1366&bih=625) look like. Some of them are _interesting._


End file.
